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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22659628">Virginia Is for Lovers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestpillowtalkever/pseuds/bestpillowtalkever'>bestpillowtalkever</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Riverdale (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, College Student Betty Cooper, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Jughead helps, LITERALLY, POV Betty Cooper, Protective Jughead Jones, Valentine's Day, alice is alice, because apparently that's my kink, its hard, its his job, just trying to figure out life, mild angst that is resolved, secret service au, she starts out dating bret but it doesn't last long because he's obviously terrible</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 15:14:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,088</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22659628</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestpillowtalkever/pseuds/bestpillowtalkever</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Isn’t this going to be kind of awkward?” he asks in the loudest whisper I’ve ever heard. </p><p>“Oh my gosh, he can hear you, Bret!” I hiss at him, because he is seriously like twenty feet away from us.</p><p>“Yeah, I know, and he’s going to be hearing a lot, so I don’t see the point in trying to be discreet about it,” he says, sounding annoyed.</p><p>“Well, what do you want me to do? I’m kind of obligated to have him here. Let’s just try to make the best of it, okay?” I plead with him, even though I know it’s a lost cause. To be honest, I’m pretty sure he is a lost cause.</p><p>“Surely he can protect you from outside? Why does he need to be lurking around us all the time?” he says, as if he’s a stalker rather than a member of the Secret Service. </p><p> </p><p>OR: Betty is given a Secret Service detail after her mom is elected Vice President.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>332</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees, Fall in Love with Riverdale: A Valentine's Event</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Virginia Is for Lovers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello and welcome.</p><p>First of all, sorry this isn't my WIP. That is the next thing I'm working on, I promise. Here is another story about an off-limits boy who sleeps in the next bedroom. I have a kink, it turns out.</p><p>A lot of you seemed to like Mother Knows Best, which was Jughead's first person POV. I am trying out Betty this time, but I don't know that her inner monologue is quite as ridiculous and entertaining. I kind of like writing in first person because it's more stream of consciousness and I don't have to write, "...she thought to herself," a thousand times. So, here we are.</p><p>Thank you so much to Izzy (@bettsplusfive) for her beta-ing. Is there anything more intimate than someone editing your clunky, awkward, first draft smut?? I think not. </p><p>Anyway, here it is. Happy Valentine's Day!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>November</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t this going to be kind of awkward?” he asks in the loudest whisper I’ve ever heard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my gosh, he can hear you, Bret!” I hiss at him, because he is seriously like twenty feet away from us.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know, and he’s going to be hearing a lot, so I don’t see the point in trying to be discreet about it,” he says, sounding annoyed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, what do you want me to do? I’m kind of obligated to have him here. Let’s just try to make the best of it, okay?” I plead with him, even though I know it’s a lost cause. To be honest, I’m pretty sure </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>is a lost cause.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Surely he can protect you from outside? Why does he need to be lurking around us all the time?” he says, as if he’s a stalker rather than a member of the Secret Service. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s cold out there! And they have someone else monitoring the outside of the house, anyway. He’s supposed to stay in earshot,” I say in his defense.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But, why?” he whines. “It’s not like you’re the President. I don’t see why being the VP’s daughter even qualifies for Secret Service detail anyway. Waste of taxpayer money, if you ask me!” he says loudly in the direction of the foyer, where Agent Jones is standing stoically in front of the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay, well I can’t actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>see </span>
  </em>
  <span>him from our place on the couch, but he seems to always be standing rather stoically. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m glad he’s here,” I say, partially because I don’t want the agent to think I’m rude and also because I really am glad. “It’s actually been helping me a lot with my anxiety knowing that someone’s here protecting me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>protection not good enough?” he asks. “I told you I’d move in with you, Betty. And take you to all your classes.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’d rather die,</span>
  </em>
  <span> is what I’d really like to tell him. But, instead I ask, “Are you really equating your fencing skills with the training of a federal agent?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you don’t trust me to protect you!” he says as I brace myself for another one of his self-centered meltdowns. “Honestly, Betty, why do you think you’re special enough that people are going to come after you? I mean, is all this necessary for the three right-wing nuts who may or may not drive by to egg your house?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve already gotten dozens of death threats, Bret!” I remind him. “People in DC may not care, but there are still plenty of crazies out there who are not happy about having a female President </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>VP. If that’s not enough, I’ve published enough feminist pieces in the Blue and Gold to have a huge target on my back, especially here in</span>
  <em>
    <span> rural Virginia</span>
  </em>
  <span>. So, yeah, Bret, I’m glad he’s here and you won’t hear me complaining.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, you’re fine with him hearing all of our personal conversations? You’re fine with him hearing us </span>
  <em>
    <span>have sex </span>
  </em>
  <span>through the wall?” he asks, as if we’ve even come close to having sex in the past few months. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bret! What the hell is wrong with you? You are making this into a much bigger deal than it is. And, to be honest? You’re kind of being a huge dick right now,” I tell him, because he is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Usually, I just back down when we butt heads, because it’s just so much easier than trying to reason with him. Lately, I’ve been having a hard time giving a shit about it anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m being a dick?” He scoffs. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>being a dick? I can’t believe you’d have the audacity to speak to me that way,” he says, getting up from the couch and grabbing his jacket. “I’m leaving to give you some time to think long and hard about this relationship. We have </span>
  <em>
    <span>goals, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Betty. And, I don’t think you’ve been taking them very seriously. When’s the last time you’ve studied for your LSATs? Huh?” He looks at me expectantly, but I don’t respond. “Getting into Harvard Law is a key part of the plan. Don’t you want </span>
  <em>
    <span>us </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be the ones sworn in at the White House one day?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure how you think that’s going to work out for you if you’re so opposed to having the Secret Service around,” I snap at him instead of answering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you being so </span>
  <em>
    <span>disrespectful </span>
  </em>
  <span>to me lately? Tonight is a prime example. You argue with everything I say. You won’t just </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen </span>
  </em>
  <span>to me. All I want is what's best for you, Betty. And I’m telling you, you don’t need this guy hanging around all the time. He looks like he’s twenty!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> the problem?” I ask, standing up in front of him. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>jealous </span>
  </em>
  <span>that I’ll be ‘hanging around’ with another guy? He’s just doing his job, Bret! You are being completely ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s it. I don’t have to stand here and let you speak to me that way,” he says, storming towards the door. “Take the evening to calm down and evaluate your priorities. I expect to see you at brunch at eleven sharp tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stops at the door in front of the agent, who doesn’t move. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well?!” Bret asks, gesturing for him to move out of his way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I help you?” Agent Jones asks calmly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>obviously </span>
  </em>
  <span>like to get through the door,” Bret says heatedly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, what can I do for you?” the agent asks, maintaining his cool demeanor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get the hell out of my way,” he says, stepping up to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bret!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Stop being a jerk!” I tell him. Could he be any more embarrassing? I can’t even imagine what this agent guy thinks of me for dating this asshat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>stop speaking to me that way!” he screams at me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sir,” Agent Jones says firmly, “If I feel that you are a security risk for Miss Cooper, I will have you blacklisted from seeing her.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span> You can’t just </span>
  <em>
    <span>ban</span>
  </em>
  <span> me from seeing my girlfriend! It’s unconstitutional!” he says, his voice going up an octave.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> if I feel that you are putting her safety at risk,” he says evenly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait till my father hears about this! He’s a Senator, you know. From Rhode Island! And he will </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> be pleased to know that his son is being treated this way by a federal employee!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s never been </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he’s really hitting a new low with these Draco Malfoy vibes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You need to leave, Bret,” I tell him shortly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The agent finally moves to open the door for him as he gives a quiet code into his earpiece. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is ridiculous. Betty, I hope you do some soul searching tonight, because we are going to have a long talk about your behavior in the Walden Room tomorrow morning,” he says before taking off down the front steps of the townhouse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry about him, I don’t even know what to say,” I tell Agent Jones as he shuts the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not a problem, ma’am,” he says with a nod. “Just let me know if he’s ever bothering you or you want him to leave and I’ll take care of it. That goes for anyone, really.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, well… thanks,” I say, feeling awkward and not sure what else to say. “Would you like to come sit down? Is that allowed? I could make you some tea or something to eat? I’m not really sure how this works.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’ve interacted with the Secret Service here and there since my mom joined now President-elect McCoy as her VP on the campaign trail. Now that they’ve won the general election, I’m apparently required by law to have Secret Service protection at all times as a matter of national security. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lucky me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I met with the head of the department yesterday, immediately after the election, to discuss my security detail. He explained that I’ll always have two agents with me- one outside guarding my house or wherever I am, and one who will be physically with me at all times. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s Agent Jones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When I go for a run, he’s supposed to be there running beside me. When I go out with my friends, he’ll only ever be a few feet away. He’ll be in all of my classes and newspaper meetings and study groups. The only time he won’t be in the same room as me is when I’m using the restroom or going to bed at night. Even then, he’ll be sleeping in the bedroom beside mine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Given that I’ll be spending so much time with the guy, they let me interview a few potential candidates to see who I vibed with. I liked this guy because he’s young and seemed like less of a meathead compared to the other ones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah. I mean, it’s really up to you what our… </span>
  <em>
    <span>relationship</span>
  </em>
  <span> is like. You’re not obligated to interact with me at all if you don’t want to,” he says, as if I’d just ignore his existence until they decide it’s safe to lower my level of security. They told me they’re being extra cautious due to the heated political climate as well as the amount of threats I’ve already gotten</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? No. Of course I’ll interact with you. Can we just, like, hang out? Get to know each other a little bit?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound as desperate as I feel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, yeah. This guy is also smoking hot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that that had anything to do with my choosing him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nope.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah, sure,” he says, almost seeming surprised as he follows me into the kitchen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry you’re stuck with me,” I tell him, since it’s kind of my fault. “I’m sure you joined the Secret Service hoping to do something much more exciting than follow me around all day”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s an honor to protect you, ma’am,” he says instantly. Sometimes it feels like these agents are robots. Or stormtroopers. Is there even a human under there?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you don’t have to call me ma’am all the time. Just Betty is fine,” I tell him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shoots me a look that suggests this is a ridiculous request. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious! You’re going to be spending every waking moment with me for the foreseeable future. I’d prefer to be on a first name basis,” I say. It seems like it would be infinitely less awkward if we have some kind of friendly rapport versus having this silent stranger always watching me. “Have a seat,” I tell him, gesturing to a kitchen chair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sits and clears his throat before speaking. “Well, it’s up to you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, of course.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Coffee or tea?” I ask.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you’re having is fine,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I give him a look to tell him that this is not an acceptable answer. “Coffee or tea?” I repeat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighs. “Coffee. Black, please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, as I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>saying,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” I continue as I start up the coffee maker. “I feel like we should get to know each other a little bit, since-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I stop talking, as he suddenly looks serious and brings a hand to his earpiece. After listening for a moment, he gives a, “Ten-four,” and gets up to open the front door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My heart tightens. Please don’t be an assailant or something</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Please just be Veronica. Please don’t be a car bomb.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ceeeeelebrate good times, come on!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Veronica’s voice echoes through the house as I breathe a sigh of relief. “Look at you, Miss Vice President’s daughter!” she says, entering the kitchen with a huge bouquet of flowers. “I can’t even handle it! I’m living with a celebrity!” She puts them down and pulls me into a tight hug. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just the same old me, I’m afraid,” I tell her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You looked divine in that red dress. Had CNN on all night just to catch glimpses of your beauty. Of course that meant I also had to see Bret’s stupid face,” she makes a gagging sound before continuing. “I love how he’s on you like a leech when the cameras are on him. Also, did you see that cute bodyguard you’ve got?” she asks, bouncing her eyebrows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>eyes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Veronica. And he can definitely hear us right now,” I tell her, even though I’m completely sure she doesn’t care.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know he can,” she says with a wink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I roll my eyes and laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, tell me </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she says as she settles on the chair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I look for Agent Jones through the doorway to shoot him an apologetic look at being interrupted, but I can’t see him as he’s returned to his spot by the door.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m going to break up with Bret this weekend,” I tell Veronica over lunch the next Friday. I am feeling lighter already now that I’ve made up my mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Oh my God, Betty. Yes. Thank God,” she says, nodding. “May I ask what has finally brought us to this most momentous occasion?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just… I mean, you’ve heard me complain about him constantly for the past three years, so you know how he is. I just don’t even know that I liked him that much to begin with. He was the first guy to want to date me, and I was excited about it, and I thought… well, I thought maybe no one else would ever want me. That’s why it’s been so hard for me to break up with him. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>awful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I know he’s awful. But, what if I break up with him and I’m single for the rest of my life?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidding </span>
  </em>
  <span>me, Betty?!” Veronica  exclaims. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I know it sounds dramatic, but it’s something I legitimately worry about. Lately, I’ve just realized I’d honestly prefer being single. I would rather be alone for the rest of my life than spend another minute with him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That is utterly ridiculous and never going to happen,” she says, grabbing my phone. “You are getting on Tinder this instant.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?! No!” I say, trying to get my phone back. I am ready to be single, but I’m not ready to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tinder</span>
  </em>
  <span> single.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t stop me, B!” she says, standing up and moving away from the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Veronica</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I literally can not go out with someone until they’ve had a full criminal background check. There is no way they are going to let me go out with some rando from Tinder.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Right, Jughead</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” I call in the direction of the foyer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not a chance!” he calls back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jughead?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Veronica whispers to me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t know, it’s his nickname. Maybe a Secret Service thing? I don’t know,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> I tell her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s from when I was a kid, actually,” he corrects, obviously able to hear everything we’re saying </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We both can’t help but laugh. “Sorry!” I call to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it,” he responds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We’ve talked here and there over the past week, but he’s proven to be a tough nut to crack. He maintains his professional demeanor and doesn’t offer much in terms of personal information. Which is fine. This is literally his job. But, I just can’t help but keep trying to figure him out. I did get his name out of him, though, so that’s been my biggest victory thus far. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you join us, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jughead</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Veronica asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, come have a sandwich!” I add. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He makes his way into the kitchen and pops his head in. “Are you sure? Don’t want to interrupt girl talk.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One thing that I’ve figured out is that the easiest way to lure him in is with food.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What difference does it make? You can hear us anyway. Come sit,” Veronica says, patting the table by an empty chair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I get up to make his sandwich and Veronica continues talking to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, Jughead, tell us about yourself,” Veronica commands, folding her hands on the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyebrows shoot up and I can sense him clamming up defensively. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Veronica, </span>
  </em>
  <span>let’s not pry,” I tell her with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>cut it out </span>
  </em>
  <span>face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” she asks innocently. “I’m just trying to get to know our new compadre.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” he says to me before addressing Veronica. “I’m from a small town, I graduated from college, then I started working for the Service,” he says succinctly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What town?” she asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Riverdale,” he responds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where’s that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“New York.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“College?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Marist.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Major?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“English.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why Secret Service?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Friend’s mom got me the job.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How old are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Twenty Five.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Girlfriend?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Boyfriend?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Veronica, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I think that’s enough,” I say as I place a sandwich in front of him. I’m not actually annoyed and I appreciate that she’s pulled some more details from him. I’ll have to text her later.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you think of Betty’s boyfriend?” Veronica asks him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes go wide and he quickly bites into the sandwich. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Agreed,” Veronica says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m breaking up with him this weekend, guys. Tonight, maybe,” I tell them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do it! Do it! Do it!” Veronica chants, clapping her hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m just kind of dreading it, because I know he’s going to lose it,” I tell her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll literally have a bodyguard with you,” she says with her hands out towards Jughead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know. I’m not expecting him to, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>attack </span>
  </em>
  <span>me or anything. It’s just… you know how he is,” I say because she’s heard enough of our arguments to know exactly how he is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Betty, he’s not your problem anymore. Tell him it’s over and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You don’t owe him anything else,” she tells me as if it’s that simple. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know. It’s just-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s just that he’s going to bitch and moan and beg and yell. Just leave, Betty. Say your piece and get out. Right, Jughead?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I look at him and he says, “You don’t have to tolerate anyone treating you with disrespect.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See? Even he says you need to just get the fuck out of there,” she says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what he said,” I tell her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I look back over at him and he shrugs with an expression that suggests he agrees with her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>breaking up with </span>
  <em>
    <span>me?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he asks incredulously. “I’m going to be the President of the United States, Betty! You are quite literally dumping a US President right now!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We’re in his apartment and I kind of just walked in and dumped him. It’s not the kindest way to end a three year relationship, but I can’t bring myself to care very much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Bret. It’s just not going to work out. I truly wish you the best,” I say before turning to leave. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you walk away from </span>
  <em>
    <span>me,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he says, grabbing my arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before I can even figure out what’s going on, Jughead is between us. He pulls Bret off of me and has him against the wall with his arm twisted behind his back. He only needs one arm to hold him in place as he says something into his earpiece. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Moments later, Agent Mason (who usually stands watch outside and drives the car) rushes in for back up. I can hear police sirens approaching and Bret just keeps screeching, “What is the meaning of this? You’ll never get another job after this, you mark my words!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The whole thing makes for a bizarre, yet oddly satisfying end to our relationship.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It feels good. Much better than I thought it would. Like, a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I don’t feel sad, or lost, or lonely. I just feel… free.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sitting back to watch the scene unfold, I don’t respond to Bret when he asks me to intervene. The police take statements. They arrest Bret for assault and take him in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I can’t seem to take my eyes off Jughead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s so hot. He is just so hot. He’s pissed off. He’s in that fitted suit. He’s manhandling Bret. He’s angrily brushing his beautiful hair back. It’s all too much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When we’re finally heading home, he gently takes me by the arm and leads me out of Bret’s apartment. “I’m so sorry, Betty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?” I ask, because I don’t really know what he has to apologize for. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I should have stepped in sooner. I should have stopped him before he grabbed you,” he says, shaking his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jughead</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he literally just grabbed my arm. I’m not hurt. It’s not a big deal,” I tell him, because it really does seem like it’s a bit much to be calling it an assault. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter. I won’t let it happen again, I promise,” he says seriously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know you won’t. Please don’t beat yourself up about it,” I tell him, because he seems like he’s taking it hard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just nods in response. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What do you mean you dumped Bret?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” my mother asks in a rage.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is the worst part of going to school near DC. She can summon me on a whim and I’m expected to come running. I knew I should have gone to the west coast.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“His father is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>senator</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Elizabeth. He’s going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>law school-“</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He hasn’t even gotten in yet!” I remind her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>haven’t either! And, Bret tells me that you haven’t been studying for the LSATs? That you waste your time gallivanting with that Lodge girl?” She’s pacing manically behind her desk with her hands on her hips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mom, I go to class, I go to meetings, I do my homework, I work on the Blue and Gold, I go for runs. That is truly the extent of my gallivanting,” I tell her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bret believes you may be going out </span>
  <em>
    <span>at night</span>
  </em>
  <span> with her to frequent </span>
  <em>
    <span>bars and nightclubs?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she says, as if anyone would consider this scandalous behavior for a twenty one year old college senior.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t! Ask him!” I say, pointing to Jughead, who is standing by the door with my mother’s bodyguard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you can bet your bottom dollar I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> be having him report your activities to me,” she says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?! You can’t do that! I’m an adult! That’s an invasion of privacy,” I tell her, outraged. My chest tightens in panic at the thought of her micromanaging my personal life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Right, Agent Jones?” she asks expectantly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I turn to look at him and his eyes are wide. “Well, since she’s an adult, we have to follow certain protocol to protect her privacy unless it’s a matter of her safety, or-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> report her activities to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Is that understood?” she says in her signature authoritative tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s actually illegal for me to-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will speak to your boss about your insubordination,” she says before turning to point at me. “And </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> are going to go make amends with your boyfriend.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?! You can’t be serious,” I say because there’s no way I am willingly speaking to him ever again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Apologize for your behavior. Beg for his forgiveness. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, Betty. If you are going to have any kind of success in the political sphere, you need to have a well-connected husband,” she says as if I’d ever consider marrying him in this lifetime or any other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not getting back together with him, mom,” I tell her simply. “I don’t love him and I never will.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who said anything about love? You don’t need to love him, Betty. Do you think your father and I love each other? We are a </span>
  <em>
    <span>partnership</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He is my greatest ally, friend, and confidante. It’s never been romantic between us, and trust me, it’s much better that way. Stop reading your cheesy romance novels and join us in the real world,” she says firmly. I never thought that my parents loved each other, but it was still unsettling to hear her confirm it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the pep talk, mom. Can I go now?” I ask. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I’ve got a meeting with a diplomat in ten. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Think </span>
  </em>
  <span>about what I said, Betty. Think about your career and all you could achieve if you would just make better choices. Also, don’t forget to schedule a hair appointment before Thanksgiving. I don’t want you looking like a ragamuffin in the photos.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you… are you going to report to my mom?” I ask as we make the two hour drive back to campus in the back of the town car.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m really not supposed to unless there’s a reason. Like, I’m concerned about your safety, or a security breach, or something like that. She may go over my head, though. If she gets the President involved-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” I groan. “She is insane,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” he says gently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, hopefully,” I say, turning to watch the rain out the window. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not… you’re not thinking of getting back together with Bret, are you?” he asks timidly, as if he’s afraid of crossing a line. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” I say with a sigh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, good,” he says. After a minute of silence he speaks again, as if he just can’t hold his tongue. “I have the utmost respect for your mother, and I hope you won’t take offense to this, but I think she’s… </span>
  <em>
    <span>misguided</span>
  </em>
  <span> about certain things,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s one way to put it,” I say with a laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you want to do with your life?” he asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not about what I want,” I tell him, since that’s just how it is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks concerned and he says, “Of course it is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s really not. Not for me, anyway,” I say, trying not to sound as melodramatic as I feel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He purses his lips, but doesn’t say anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I take a deep breath before rattling off The Plan. “I’m going to graduate at the top of my class before attending Harvard Law. I’ll practice immigration law for a few years before running for office. I’ll start on the state level, maybe move up to the House before winning a Senate seat. After that, I’ll set my sights on the White House. In the meantime, I’ll get married, have a maximum of two kids, help run my family’s charitable foundation, and attend lots of important events for networking. By the time I die, I’ll have contributed enough money to hospitals and libraries to have several wings and rooms named after me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods with a small smile. “You’ll make your mother proud.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I laugh. “Well, that’s really at the heart of The Plan, I guess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What would you do? If you could do anything?” he asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um… I… don’t know. I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “I’ve been so laser focused on The Plan, that I’ve never really let myself entertain the thought of doing something else. I was obsessed with Nancy Drew when I was little, so I guess I’ve always thought it would be cool to be a detective or something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you have a journalism minor?” he asks and I tell him that I do. “You do a great job with the newspaper and you seem to enjoy that. You could go into investigative journalism? That would be cool.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I think about it for a moment. Uncovering conspiracies like Woodward and Bernstein. Shaking down my sources for information. Wearing a wire and staking out houses and sifting through trash for clues.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I smile at the thought before responding, “My mother would never allow it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He bobs his head in dubious agreement. “She wouldn’t be happy about it. But, you can do what you want with your life. You’re an adult. She can tell you what to do, but that doesn’t mean you have to do it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He says it like it’s that simple. I sigh and wish that it was. “What are your big life plans?” I ask in deflection. Also, because I’m curious and he seems to be in a chatty mood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, as embarrassing as it is to admit, I am actually an aspiring novelist,” he divulges.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really?” I ask, surprised. I know he has an English degree, but I didn’t peg him for a writer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, shocking, I know. There is, in fact, a brain animating this insipid federal agent,” he says with a little smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I laugh because it’s delightful to see his personality. “Why are you here, then?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, it turns out that sitting around your apartment and working on a novel that may or may not ever hit a printing press pays exactly zero bills. My best friend’s mom is a higher up here at the Service, so she convinced me to apply for a job,” he explains.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, when do you have time to even write? You spend all of your time with me,” I tell him, as if he hadn’t noticed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Technically I’m off the clock once you’re in your room for the night. So, I get a little writing done every night,” he says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you tell me?!” I ask. “I could go to bed way earlier so you have more free time!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!” he says in a panic, his eyes going wide. “That’s not at all why I told you that. Please don’t worry about me. I’m something of a night owl anyway.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, I’m sure you love me dragging you out of the house at six in the morning to go running,” I say, feeling terribly guilty that his life revolves around mine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s my </span>
  <em>
    <span>job</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Betty. Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>worry about me. It’s what I signed up for. I knew what the job entailed,” he tells me. It doesn’t make me feel any better. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, when do you get time off? Surely you get a break some time?” I ask.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Starting next month when things settle down, I’ll get every other weekend off and someone else will cover for me,” he says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not very much time. How are you supposed to have any kind of personal life?” I ask. It seems like an awful lot to sacrifice. How could he possibly maintain any sort of friendships or relationships?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s kind of why I ended up in this position. There are tons of agents who work normal hours and get to go home to their families every night. I’m young with no family to worry about, so I don’t mind working around the clock. I’m very well compensated,” he adds, sounding almost embarrassed about it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m glad for that. You deserve it with everything you have to give up,” I tell him. “So… that’s your life plan? Publish novels?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean, yeah. Sorry it’s not as </span>
  <em>
    <span>detailed </span>
  </em>
  <span>as yours,” he says and I laugh again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s pretty funny and it’s not helping my little crush one bit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, what’s this book about, anyway?” I ask. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He spends the rest of the car ride telling me about his murder mystery novel inspired by a true story from his hometown.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>December</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Betty, I have a boy for youuuuu!” Veronica sings, coming down the stairs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Veronica, I don’t have time for oooooone!” I respond as I’m reading for class over breakfast. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I am behind. I hate being behind. I have assignments to catch up on, studying to do, projects that I haven’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>started</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and finals are days away. I’m blaming it on the election.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lord help me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been down since your breakup,” she states.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I haven’t,” I say, because I’m honestly in a much better place than I’ve been in in a while. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, you haven’t, BUT it’s your first time being single since freshman year! You need to live it up, girl! And, since I’m not allowed to Tinder you,” she shoots a disapproving look to Jughead, who is eating beside me at the table. “I have made it my goal to find you some squeaky clean suitors that will pass inspection. And, I have found just the boy,” she says, clapping.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Veronica, I don’t have the </span>
  <em>
    <span>time,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” I tell her. Plus, the boys she knows are typically a bit… </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretentious</span>
  </em>
  <span> for my taste. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>a romantic interlude in your life, Betty,” she says to me before turning to Jughead. “Doesn’t she need a romantic interlude in her life?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There is absolutely no way I’m participating in this conversation,” he says through a bite of bagel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What if I say I’m setting her up with a convicted felon, Jughead? Would you participate in the conversation then?” she asks, sounding mildly annoyed that he’s not agreeing with her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>not happening,” he says bluntly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“None of this is happening,” I say, frustrated that I’m being distracted from my reading. “After we get back from winter break, I will go out with whoever you want, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I get that in writing?” she asks with a big smile. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just don’t see why women even </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to enter the workplace. They had it so good! Your husband goes to work, pays your bills, takes you on vacation, and you get to just sit at home all day, doing whatever you want. If anything, it was the men who were oppressed!” this smarmy kid says in History of American Political Thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I slowly turn my head to lock eyes with Jughead, who’s standing in front of the windows on the side of the classroom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s kind of cool, I have to admit. It’s like I get to have a friend with me wherever I go. The more time we spend together, the more in sync we are. I feel like we can just read each other’s minds sometimes. Like, now. I know he is also judging this kid for his stupid comment and we’re definitely going to talk about it when we’re leaving campus later. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How could men be oppressed if they were the only ones who were given a </span>
  <em>
    <span>choice</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” I ask, because I just can’t keep my mouth shut. “They </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked </span>
  </em>
  <span>having their wives dependent on them. It gave them power over them. Women didn’t even have the </span>
  <em>
    <span>option</span>
  </em>
  <span> to have a career. They couldn’t leave their husbands if they wanted to, because they had no way of supporting themselves. They had basically no autonomy.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>And, your opinion is stupid and you should feel stupid, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I add in my head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I glance back over at Jughead who shoots me a wink. I try to keep myself from smiling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soon after, class is dismissed and I am unfortunately cornered by Smarmy Boy. “Good discussion, Cooper. I like it when you get feisty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Barf.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What can I say? I have a hard time keeping quiet when I hear people rehashing sixty year old arguments in favor of oppressing women,” I say with a strained smile. I start walking out of the classroom and he unfortunately follows me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughs, as if I was joking. “I heard you’re back on the market,” he says as we make our way into the hall with Jughead close behind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you?” I ask instead of confirming it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you wanna go get lunch with me?” he asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I scramble for an excuse, since I was just about to head to the student center for lunch as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I… I would, but I’m… I have a-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Miss Cooper has a lunch appointment,” Jughead interrupts, taking my arm and directing me to walk in a different direction.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Catch ya later, Cooper!” he calls after me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” I whisper to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You could just say no, you know. I’m sure that kid’s ego could handle it,” he tells me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s just… it’s really hard for some reason,” I say. I truly don’t know why it’s so hard for me to say no to people. It’s really simple in theory, but seemingly impossible in the moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods. “You’re too nice. You don’t always have to be nice to people.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t it good to be nice?” I ask.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“It’s good to be </span><em><span>kind,</span></em> <span>which is different.</span> <span>You’re allowed to stand up for yourself. Set boundaries. That’s not unkind, even if it’s not always nice,” he says, like he’s Dumbledore or something. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” I say, nodding and mulling over his words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, where shall our lunch appointment be? Taco Bell?” he asks hopefully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” I say, always happy to indulge him. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It finally happens one afternoon when we’re walking into campus from the parking garage. Someone pops out of nowhere to start following us.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shame on you! Shame on your family!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I turn and look to find a middle aged white man holding a Bible and wearing a </span>
  <em>
    <span>God Hates Fags </span>
  </em>
  <span>shirt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You devil worshippers! You child pornographers! You bring sin and iniquity to this great nation! You are the face of evil! EVIL!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s pretty far behind us, and Jughead is seemingly torn between staying beside me and approaching the man. He says something into his earpiece.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You belong to a family of adulterers! You lie! You cheat! You swindle! You are going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span>, young lady! You are going to HELL!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s walking towards us and Jughead places himself between me and the man. I can see Agent Mason rushing over from the parking garage. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sir, you have a right to freedom of speech, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>not allow you to harass Miss Cooper. I’m asking you to stop, or else I’ll have to arrest you,” he says authoritatively, stepping up to the man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I forgot. I honestly forgot about this side of him. The dichotomy between the two is a huge turn on for me, to be honest. The goofy book nerd versus the badass Secret Service agent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You will BURN in HELL!” he screams in his face. The next moment he is on the ground with Jughead’s knee in his back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got it, Jones,” Agent Mason tells him as some police officers join the scene. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jughead looks over at me before nodding to his partner. They pull the man up to stand before handing him over to the police.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Jughead asks as he approaches. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m fine,” I assure him. It’s never fun. It’s always a bit alarming. But, it’s not my first time being harassed by a stranger. It comes with the territory of being a public political figure. Well, the child of one, anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gently grabs my arm and leads me towards the building that houses the Blue and Gold office, where I’m definitely going to be late for my meeting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What a lunatic,” he says, shaking his head and looking disgusted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s so hot. He is seriously so attractive, particularly when he’s all worked up like this. It’s enough for me to forget to even feel shaken up by the crazy guy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it. It happens all the time,” I tell him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not while I’m here,” he says with conviction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I force down a smile, but he unfortunately notices. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s so funny?” he asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, nothing,” I say quickly, shaking my head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, tell me,” he insists, looking curious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s just… I kind of love seeing the Secret Service side of you.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Love? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Did I say love? Is it weird that I said love? “It’s just really…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I can’t say hot. What would be a not awkward way to end that sentence? I’m flustered and I shake my head, blushing. “I like it,” I say, determinedly looking away from him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah?” he asks with a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind, I guess,” he says as he opens the door of the building. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns to me, looking a little mischievous and very pleased with himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something about the interaction leaves me in a giddy mood when I walk into the meeting that I’m late for. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, everyone!” I announce. “Got a little held up by an adoring fan,” I say, making Jughead laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Toni and Ethel turn to each other and exchange a knowing look that makes me start the meeting as quickly as possible. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing up?” he whispers from behind me as I fly several feet in the air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry! You scared me,” I say, bringing my hand to my chest. I realize that I’m wearing a tank top without a bra and that he’s definitely getting some kind of view in this cold kitchen. I try to act casual, as if I don’t notice and he appears to be doing the same with his eyes glued to my face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he says apologetically. “I heard you leave your room and wanted to make sure you’re okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hair, usually perfectly styled and slicked back, is beautifully disheveled. Instead of his sharp, fitted suit, he’s in a rumpled t-shirt and flannel pants. He looks positively delicious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m fine. Just one of those nights where I couldn’t turn my brain off. Was just coming down to make some tea. I hope I didn’t wake you,” I say.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was awake anyway. Writing. So, no worries,” he tells me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry to interrupt,” I say as I fill up the kettle. “Would you like some tea?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure,” he says, sitting down at the table. After a few moments of silence he asks, “What were you thinking about? That you couldn’t turn your brain off?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you know. Finals. All the work I need to do. That stupid project for Econ. Questioning all of my choices. Pondering the meaning of life,” I say. I don’t know if he thinks I’m joking, but I kind of am going through an existential crisis. It’s a strange feeling of standing on a precipice, making the decisions that will direct the course of the rest of my life. No pressure or anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I can’t help you with all of that, but do you want me to help you with your project? I mean, we’re both up anyway, and maybe getting some work done will help you feel better about things. I’ve never taken Econ before, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>been sitting in your class for the past month and-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” I say, nodding as I prepare our tea cups. “Are you sure? I’d hate to keep you from writing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. Would you judge me if I told you that I kind of miss college assignments?” he looks up at me with the most adorable expression. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not at all,” I tell him honestly. “Let me go run and grab my laptop.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once I’m in my bedroom I debate whether or not to put on a bra. I settle on a flattering lacy one and let the edges peek out from under my tank top. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We stay up for a few hours. Working with him makes the whole process more fun and less stressful. He’s really smart and ends up helping a lot more than I thought he would. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By two, we are officially getting slap happy. At some point, he makes a dumb joke (</span>
  <em>
    <span>What happened when the semicolon broke grammar laws? It was given two consecutive sentences.</span>
  </em>
  <span>) and I dissolve into a fit of giggles. It’s truly not that funny, but I can’t stop laughing and suddenly tears are streaming down my face. He starts laughing because of how uncontrollably I am laughing, and it takes several minutes for us to calm down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t even remember the last time I laughed that hard,” he tells me as he wipes his tears away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Me neither.” I agree. “With everything I was doing for the election and then the break up and now finals, I feel like I’ve been in a constant state of stress for a long time. So, thank you for this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve just been working non-stop for the past four years to pay off my student loans,” he tells me. “It’s been a nice break to work here with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Break!? You’ve had one weekend off in the past month,” I remind him. They let him go home for Thanksgiving while I was staying with my parents. It was really weird and I’m not looking forward to this weekend when he’s gone again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I know. But, before I had to stand on the roof of the White House for hours at a time. Now, I get to hang out with you. And, I mean, protect you and all that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, my company is preferable to standing on a roof? I’m so flattered,” I say with a smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughs. “It really is. You’re really… I like spending time with you. I feel like we could talk forever and never run out of things to say.” The energy shifts and I’m suddenly aware of how close we are. I can feel my heart beating in my chest. It feels like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>moment</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Is he feeling it too?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m really glad you’re here,” I tell him. “I thought it would be so awkward having you around, but I kind of love it.” There’s that </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>word again. Come on, Betty. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I kind of love it, too,” he says, nodding. Okay, maybe he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> feeling it too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Our eyes are locked and maybe it’s because it’s late and I’m overtired and he’s just so attractive and he’s been so </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I involuntarily start leaning in towards him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Betty</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he stops me. “We </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He looks absolutely destroyed and it helps ease the sting of rejection just a little. My heart that was just full and fluttery is now sinking into my stomach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head and quickly getting up from the table. I start cleaning up our snacks and putting dishes in the sink.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Betty, if things were different...” he starts before I cut him off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Stop talking,” I tell him as I wash our plates. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. Look at me,” he says in his Secret Service voice. I slowly turn as he walks over to me and he pushes my chin up with his finger. “Please don’t be embarrassed. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>wish</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you have no idea how much I wish that we could. But, I can’t risk my job, or your reputation, or most importantly your </span>
  <em>
    <span>safety</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s not… it has nothing to do with you, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I nod wordlessly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he says before pressing a chaste kiss to my forehead. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s no Jughead,” Veronica whispers over our table at Panera. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s visiting his sister for the weekend and Agent Keller is here in his place. He seems nice enough. He actually seems like the kind of agent I thought I would have- older, quiet, aloof. He’s currently sitting at the table behind me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s just for the weekend,” I remind her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s kind of weird. I’ve gotten so used to him being your little sidekick,” she says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s not my sidekick, we just get along,” I tell her defensively.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s always laughing at your jokes and agreeing with everything you say. He’s totally your sidekick. He’s also really into you. He always checks out your ass when you bend over,” she says with a mischievous look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?!” I exclaim. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shushes me and I look over my shoulder at Agent Keller. He’s scanning the room, looking serious. It doesn’t seem like he’s listening in on our conversation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I actually have to tell you something…” I say as quietly as I can. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh my God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you guys fucked,” she says, looking absolutely delighted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. Quite the opposite, actually. I tried to kiss him and he shot me down,” I tell her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?!” she asks, looking confused.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I shush her before continuing. “It happened Thursday night. We stayed up late and he helped me with some school work and it just felt like the right moment and I just went for it and… he said we can’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Booooo!” she says, giving a thumbs down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know. I mean, I know he’s technically not allowed, but, like, who follows stupid rules like that, you know?” I mean, I appreciate his commitment to his job and my safety, but come on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That is so annoying!” she tells me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, I know,” I say, nodding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, what are you going to do about it?” she asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, respect his choices and leave him alone as I wallow in self pity?” I suggest. Is there really any other option?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I’ve got a better idea.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>** </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This one is for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Veronica says, handing a small wrapped box to Jughead as he sits beside me on the couch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you didn’t have to,” he says, seeming embarrassed. ‘I didn’t even get you anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I know you didn’t,” she says. Though she is quite privileged (and maybe even a bit spoiled), she truly enjoys giving more than receiving. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Veronica’s a big gift giver. You just have to accept it and get used to it,” I tell him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He opens the box to find beautiful silver cufflinks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Veronica. You shouldn’t have,” he says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And these two are for my dear B,” she says, handing over two beautifully wrapped gifts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first is a beautiful diamond tennis bracelet that surely costs a fortune. I gush over it and thank her profusely, even though it’s not exactly my style.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I open the second box and it takes me a minute to figure out what it is, since there’s no picture on the outside. My initial thought is that it’s a fancy perfume or something, but I start reading the box, and...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Aphrodite, Pleasure Beyond Imagination, Personal…</span>
  </em>
  <span> Oh, my </span>
  <em>
    <span>God,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Veronica!” I say, my face immediately turning beet red. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? I know you weren’t doing Bret and I can’t set you up with anyone until we’re back from break. I figured this should hold you over in the meantime. This one is great, because it hits just the right spot and it has this part that wraps around to stimulate your clit-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Veronica!” I say, jumping up from the couch. “Thank you. I appreciate the gifts. But, I’m going to go up to my room now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I escape as quickly as possible as I hear her call after me, “Going to try out the toy, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!” I shout, before slamming the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I know she’s just trying to tease Jughead, but I am a little too repressed to act casual about publically receiving a sex toy. I’ve never actually had one before and I hate how much I want to try it. But, obviously I can’t do it </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> with everyone awake in the house and hyper aware of what I have in my possession. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We’re leaving for my parents’ house in Connecticut in the morning and I still haven’t started packing. I suppose I’ll have to leave this adventure for another night. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, since I won’t see you on Christmas, I wanted to give this to you.” He slides an envelope out of his inner jacket pocket and hands it to me. We’re in the back of the car, on our way to my parents’ house. He gets to go home for Christmas off while I stay with them. It will be our last Christmas at home before they move into the Vice President’s residence in DC.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’d honestly rather stay with him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I open the envelope to find two backstage passes to see Ellie Goulding in January. “You’ll have to stay backstage the whole time. I’ve already cleared it with my bosses and run background checks on their team and the employees at the venue. I just figured that since you don’t get to do this kind of thing a lot, and certainly not </span>
  <em>
    <span>spontaneously, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that it would be kind of fun and you seem to listen to her a lot, so-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love it,” I say, cutting him off. “This is so thoughtful of you. I haven’t been to a concert in so long.” I want to hug him, but I’ve been feeling awkward about crossing any boundaries since that night I threw myself at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Me neither. Probably when I was still in college,” he tells me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so this was just an excuse for you to go to a concert?” I tease.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? No!” he says quickly. “I mean, I do kind of like the opener….” he concedes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I have to laugh. “I’m really excited. Thank you so much, Jughead.” It’s so annoying how great he is. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I hope you know how much you torture me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s no problem,” he says, seeming shy. “There’s an extra ticket if you want to bring Veronica or someone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure she’d love to come,” I tell him. “Here, I got you something, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I hand him his gift and he opens it to find a signed, first edition copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>In Cold Blood.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Betty, this is…” he looks up at me, smiling. “This is amazing. I can’t even imagine how much this cost.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I can’t imagine how much trouble you went through to get me those concert tickets. So, let’s call it even.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods at me. “Okay. Thank you. This is probably the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I can’t hold back my blush and I know it. “I’m glad you like it,” I say quietly. “It’s the least I can do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Betty, you always act like you </span>
  <em>
    <span>owe </span>
  </em>
  <span>me something. It’s my job to watch out for you. You don’t owe me anything,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not your job to help me study and do my homework or be my therapist when I’m stressed out or… get me </span>
  <em>
    <span>concert tickets</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” I say. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. I guess it’s not,” he admits. “But, you still don’t owe me for any of that. I have fun with you. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>doing those things. You think I’m the one helping you, but… but, you’ve done more for me than you know,” he says cryptically. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I give him a questioning look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A story for another day,” he says sadly with a bounce of his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We’re almost to my house and I’m absolutely dreading it. I don’t want to deal with my mom. I don’t want to listen to her nag about the future. I don’t want to hide in my room all day, trying to escape her criticism. I don’t want my dad to sit in his chair, reading and ignoring everything going on around him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I don’t want Jughead to go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s going to be a long two weeks without him. I’m so glad he gets to spend time with his family. He really deserves a break. But, I’m seriously going to miss him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can text me, you know. If you need anything,” he says, as if reading my mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How sad is that? I can’t go two weeks without my emotional support bodyguard.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughs. “Betty, I’ll… I’ll miss you,” he admits.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I bite my lip and we look at each other for a few moments. “I’ll miss you, too.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elizabeth, you are taking the LSATs in </span>
  <em>
    <span>two weeks. </span>
  </em>
  <span>What do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> you left your test prep book at school?” my mother fumes two days before Christmas.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I forgot,” I tell her. I didn’t. It was pretty intentional that I left it behind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>forgot</span>
  </em>
  <span>? How could you forget?! I’ll have Chipping run to the bookstore in the morning to get you another one,” she says, before giving him the request over the intercom. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You forgot,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she says again under her breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I don’t want to take the LSATs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I don’t care. I truly don’t care. I am trying so hard to care. I very much do not care. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m going up to my room,” I tell her as I run upstairs before she has a chance to stop me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I lock my door and throw myself on the bed. I don’t want to go to law school. It was a perfectly fine faraway goal, but now that it's happening and I’m thinking about the reality of it, I don’t actually want to do it at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I don’t want to spend the next several years drowning in textbooks. I don’t want to have a job where I’m a slave to my office. I don’t want to sacrifice my social life and personal time for a career I’m only getting into to make my mother happy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I don’t even know that I want to run for office. I don’t like public speaking. I don’t like being on camera. I don’t like telling people what to do. There’s really nothing about it that appeals to me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, what the fuck am I going to do? What career </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>I want? How do I get into it now, months before graduation and well past time to get an internship anywhere? How do I tell my mother? How the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>am I going to tell my mother?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’m spiraling. I feel the wave of panic coming. My stomach tightens and my breathing gets shallow. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I keep telling myself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I fish my phone out of my pocket and pull up Jughead’s number. He could talk me out of it. He’s so good at putting things into perspective. But, I don’t want to interrupt his family time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I hold the phone to my chest and take a deep breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I pull it back up and quickly press the button to call him, before I can second guess myself. It goes unanswered after a few rings and I quickly end the call before I even get to the voicemail message.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I drop the phone in defeat and close my eyes. I try to take long, deep breaths to center myself. I try to clear my head. Stop thinking about anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a few minutes, I look at my phone again to see three missed calls and a voicemail from Jughead. I quickly call him back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He answers in the middle of the first ring. “Betty? Is everything okay?” he asks, sounding worried.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Sorry, I’m fine,” I tell him quickly. “I was just… I wanted to talk to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Is everything alright?” he asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m… I’m fine. Am I interrupting anything with your family?” I ask, feeling bad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, not at all. My sister’s at a friend’s house and my dad’s already asleep for the night,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Were you writing?” I guess.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did you know?” he says, and I can tell he’s smiling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Very on brand for you. Very on brand for </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be distracting you,” I say.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mind,” he tells me. “What’s going on? Why did you call? Something on your mind or did you just miss me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are you flirting, Mr. Jones??</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I sigh. “Well, I do miss you,” I admit, “but, I’m calling because I need you to be my guidance counselor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How can I be of assistance?” he asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My mom keeps hounding me about the LSATs and… and I don’t think I’m going to take them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good,” he says firmly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good? How is that good? It seems really bad. It feels really bad.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s good because you’re doing what you want, even if your mom doesn’t like it,” he tells me. “There’s no reason to feel bad about it. It’s your life, not hers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did you know what you wanted to do with your life?” I ask. “I just feel so much pressure that I need to make all of these important choices right now and I just…. don’t know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um, well… I didn’t know. And, I don’t know,” he says. There’s some rustling and it sounds like he’s settling into bed.. “I just knew… I knew I didn’t want to do what my dad wanted me to do. And, I knew I liked writing. So, I’m still trying to figure out how to make that happen. I don’t know, I’m probably not the best person to talk to about </span>
  <em>
    <span>career</span>
  </em>
  <span> advice.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did your dad want you to do?” I ask, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to unlock more of his mysterious backstory.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well… he was kind of involved in a gang while I was growing up. He wanted me to take on a… </span>
  <em>
    <span>leadership role</span>
  </em>
  <span> after I graduated high school. I put myself through college instead. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but I knew it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>that. </span>
  </em>
  <span>So, I just went off to college and hoped for the best.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I can’t even imagine that. Going off on your own and forging your own path without anyone helping you or telling you what to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s amazing,” I tell him. It kind of is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s really not. My friends’ parents, the one who got me a job here-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Archie?” I ask, since he’s spoken of him before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Archie’s parents. They supported me the whole way. It’s not quite as dramatic as it sounds.” His reaction is not surprising to me. He always tries to downplay his achievements. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I envy your courage. That’s kind of exactly what I want to do. Just go off on my own and make my own choices without worrying about my mother’s reaction. It’s just…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Scary?” he supplies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, kind of. It’s like, if I do what my mom wants, I’m allowing her to maintain some sort of… </span>
  <em>
    <span>parental control </span>
  </em>
  <span>over me. Which is stifling, but also safe. Because I’m letting her be the one who’s responsible for my choices. Going off and doing what I want seems so risky,” I tell him, verbalizing a lot of my fears and feelings for the first time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s also freeing. I think you’ll be surprised by how strong and capable you are. I mean, you might fail. You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>going </span>
  </em>
  <span>to fail at some point. That’s just life. But, you can handle it,” he says with surety.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I?” I ask. It doesn’t feel like it. I’m literally having a meltdown over my mom procuring an LSAT study guide. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can. I’m sure you will. I think once you separate yourself from your mother a bit more, things will get easier for you,” he says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you’re right. She’s going to be a lot busier after inauguration. That might be the perfect time to start… pulling away,” I say. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That sounds like a reasonable assumption. Why don’t you enjoy the holiday with your family. Just go along with what your mom says and act like you’re applying to law schools. When we get back in January, we’ll start figuring out what you really want to do,” he says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I breathe a sigh of relief. I still have no clue what I’m going to do with my life. But, I feel better for at least having a plan to start planning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That sounds great, Jughead. Thank you so much for helping me. I don’t know what I would do without you,” I tell him. It sounds dramatic, but it’s kind of true.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Always happy to help.” After a moment of silence, he continues, “I actually have a funny story to tell you about something that happened with my sister today. I think you’ll appreciate it. So, you know how you like that stupid show, Billy on the Street?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not stupid! You always laugh at it!” I remind him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but it’s also stupid. Anyway, there was this guy downtown…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We end up talking late into the night about everything and nothing. By the time we say goodnight, whispering that we we miss each other and wish we were together, my worries about my mom and the future are completely forgotten.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>January</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My legs are freezing cold in this stupid dress that my mom made me wear. Cameras from every domestic and international news station are on us. I hate it. I turn to find Jughead standing alongside some other Secret Service agents. I catch his eye and he gives a subtle wink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>President McCoy is inaugurated. My mom is installed as Vice President. There’s lots of hand shaking and networking. We go to a fancy banquet dinner, where I have to make stupid smalltalk with vapid people and pretend to have a good time. Jughead is hanging back unobtrusively, but I still feel better with him here. I can’t wait till we return to campus and get back to our normal lives.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, well, well. Either Weston Wallis is a bigger cad than I thought he was or Princess Diana is finally a free woman,” Nick says as he approaches me in the ballroom. He nods towards the corner where a leggy brunette is draped across Bret’s shoulders. It’s strange how much this doesn’t affect me. I mean, he is my one and only ex boyfriend who I broke up with fairly recently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Nick,” I greet with a forced smile. He is one of many insufferable St. Clairs, a family that has held political and economic power in America since colonial times.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Elizabeth,” he says, bowing down to kiss my knuckles. “Big break for your family, getting into the White House. I’m sure this bodes well for your future endeavors. Care to join me on the dance floor?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I try to subtly look for Jughead, but instead find my mother’s hawk eyes on me. She looks delighted and gives a pointed nod in Nick’s direction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll have to excuse me, Nick,” I say before turning and winding my way through the crowd towards the bathroom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you thinking?” I hear hissed in my ear. My mom must have followed me. I turn to find her with a manic smile, clearly trying to pretend that we’re having a friendly conversation. She pulls me into a hug, saying quietly, “Get back over there and dance with that St.Clair, Elizabeth.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She pulls back and pats my cheek, before heading off to talk to someone else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I scan the room and see Jughead standing against the wall with his eyes on me. I make a beeline towards him and he meets me halfway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everything alright?” he asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can we get out of here?” I ask.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” he says, about to talk into his earpiece.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait. I don’t want to go back to the house. Could we go… somewhere else?” It’s late and I really don’t feel like staying with my parents another night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like, for the night?” he clarifies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I just need to get away from my mom,” I explain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He checks his watch and then looks up at me. “Come with me,” he says, leading me by the arm to exit the ballroom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We make our way through the White House to the parking deck below ground. Jughead nods at the other agents along the way. He brings me to one of the many nondescript town cars and opens the passenger door for me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you driving?” I ask, surprised. Typically he rides in the back with me while Agent Mason drives.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you trust me?” he asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” I tell him. I really do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I get into the car and he shuts the door after me. He gets into the driver’s seat and starts pulling out. “So, we have two options,” he tells me. “We could just drive back to campus now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s almost midnight and I’d hate to make him drive two hours after working all day. “What’s the other option?” I ask.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, the Secret Service has some secure hotel rooms on reserve at the Ritz-Carlton for situations like this, so I could just take you to one of those.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s do that,” I say instantly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” he agrees with a nod.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hotel is pretty close and he leads me in through a sneaky entrance off the parking garage. He punches in a code and scans his fingerprint to get us into the elevator. There's apparently no need to check in, because we go straight to a floor with only a few doors. He brings me to the door at the end of the hall, again entering a code and scanning his hand, before it opens up into a huge suite. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is what I imagined the Secret Service being like. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a large living room with a fireplace that’s already on. I walk through the French doors leading to a bedroom with a king size bed. Plopping down on it, I kick off my heels and throw off my coat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jughead comes to stand in front of me. He tosses his suit jacket onto the dresser and loosens his tie.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It feels overwhelmingly intimate and my surprise must register on my face, because he quickly says, “I’ll be sleeping on the pull out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh! That’s fine. I mean, wherever you feel comfortable. You can have the bed if you want and I’ll take the couch, it doesn’t matter to me,” I tell him, trying to sound a lot more casual than I feel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gives me an unimpressed look. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> will take the bed and I will take the couch.” He kicks off his shoes and sets the next to the dresser before returning to the living room and putting on the TV. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I hear that he’s put the news on, which is showing footage from the earlier Inauguration. “Ew, turn it off!” I yell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?” he asks. “I wanna see if I can see myself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I laugh. I forget that it’s novel to be on TV if you’re not used to it. I come out to join him and sit beside him on the couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s so unfairly attractive, with his loosened tie and rumpled hair. I’ve had a few glasses of champagne and I’m really hoping I don’t do something stupid and embarrass myself again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s me!” he says, pointing at the television. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And there’s me,” I say with a sigh. I always think I look good until I see myself on TV. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It switches back to the newscasters and he turns it off. He knows how much I hate listening to them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We sit in silence for a few moments. I really and truly want to just climb on top of him. It’s taking all of my willpower to stay firmly planted in my seat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How was Christmas?” I ask, trying to find a casual topic of conversation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was good. It was nice to spend time with my dad and Jellybean. I… I missed you, though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I snap my head to look at him,and he slowly turns to return my gaze. “I missed you, too. It was actually kind of weird without you,” I tell him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gives a light chuckle, “Yeah. It’s really weird without you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We look at each other for a few beats before we both turn to look straight ahead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You look beautiful tonight,” he says quietly. “I mean, you always look beautiful, but I was with you all day and no one told you that you look beautiful and someone needed to tell you and it’s kind of stupid that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one telling you, but it needed to be said and now I’ve said it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I can’t help but smile. His nervous rambling is just so sweet and endearing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re really hot, Jughead,” I tell him bluntly. He turns to look at me, looking surprised and confused. “You look so good in that suit, it’s abjectly unfair.” He continues to look at me without responding. “It’s just… I’m with you all the time and I’ve never heard anyone tell you that so, I figured I should let you know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face lights up with a smile. He turns away, blushing and laughs to himself. “Thanks, Betts.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anytime, Jug.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like, what are we even doing? We are </span>
  <em>
    <span>clearly </span>
  </em>
  <span>into each other. There is so much romantic and sexual tension, I can hardly </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe.</span>
  </em>
  <span> This is so stupid. I am so sick of my stupid life, where I do the right thing and say the right thing and make the right choices and date the right boys. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, what if it’s against the rules? We are two consenting adults. I’m not going to tell anyone. I don’t see how my safety could be compromised in this very secure hotel room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I look over at him and he turns to look at me, seeming as conflicted as I am. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before I have time to second guess myself, I climb on top of him to straddle his lap. His hands automatically come to my waist. He looks down at my body and then up to my face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you want to stop, tell me now,” I say, hoping that I’m not making the world’s biggest fool of myself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He kisses me in response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s happening. It’s happening. It’s happening. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I try to turn my brain off and enjoy the moment. It’s hard because the only person I’ve ever made out with is Bret and it didn’t seem like he was a particular good kisser, and as a result I don’t know that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>a particularly good kisser, but based on what’s currently happening I’m sure that Jughead is </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>a good kisser.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I open my eyes to see his face as he’s kissing me. His eyes are closed and he’s just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>into </span>
  </em>
  <span>it that I feel reassured that I’m not totally embarrassing myself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I run my hands up into his hair and he runs his up my thighs. It feels electric. Like my body is buzzing. I finally let go and get lost in it and just surrender to the moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I feel his hands along my back and the next moment he’s unzipping my dress. I quickly pull my arms through and he lifts it over my head and tosses it to the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We make out for a while longer, with his hands exploring my body and getting me all kinds of worked up. Something about being in just my bra and underwear as he’s still in his suit is really doing it for me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He leans in to continue kissing, but instead I slide down onto the floor between his legs. He looks down at me, saying, “Betty, you don’t have to-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to,” I tell him. I really do. I want to rock his world. I want to be the best he’s ever had. I’m not so sure if I’m any good at sex, but I’m pretty confident that I’m good at </span>
  <em>
    <span>this. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Unless you don’t want me to?” I ask.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No! </span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I really want you to. I mean, as long as you want to,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I bite my lip and bat my eyelashes and hope that I look sexy and not ridiculous. I quickly get to work unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I pull him out and look at it for a moment, biting my lip. “It’s so big,” I almost whine under my breath. I'm actually not sure if it’s technically </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> big, since I don’t have a very wide frame of reference. It just seems like the sort of thing that you say in this situation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I tease him with my tongue and he throws his head back against the couch. “Oh, God,” he groans, bringing his hands to my head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I try different things to see what he reacts to, working him until my tongue is dead and my jaw is numb. The little sounds and moans I’m getting from him are totally worth the effort. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I must be doing something right, because soon his hand tightens in my hair as he mumbles, “Betts, I’m gonna-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I take it in all the way, so that it shoots down my throat and I don’t have to taste it so much. After working him through his orgasm, I slow down and sit back on my feet, wiping my mouth with my hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s breathing heavily and looking down at me with a little smile and eyes glazed over. “You are the sexiest thing I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> seen,” he says, leaning over to kiss me roughly. He pulls me up to standing and continues kissing me. With his hands on my hips, he leads me to walk backwards into the bedroom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We get to the edge of the bed and he easily lifts me up to toss me in the middle of it. I laugh in surprise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has a big smile on his face as he climbs in after me. “Why are you still dressed?” I ask him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Apparently you think I’m really hot in this suit, so I’m trying to work with that,” he says teasingly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I laugh as I pull his tie off and start unbuttoning his shirt. I kiss his neck and down his chest as I reveal more skin before he stops me. “No, no, no. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>turn,” he says, pushing me down onto the bed. He pulls off his shirt and undershirt before peeling off his pants and socks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He is truly divine. I don’t know what I’ve done right in this life that I’m about to have sex with him, but thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>God. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He climbs on top of me and leans over for a hot, open mouthed kiss before working down my neck and to my chest. “May I?” he asks, with his hand on the clasp of my bra. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Obviously,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” I tell him and it’s off in an instant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulls back to look me over with a big grin. “You’re so hot,” he says, shaking his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’ve never thought of myself as hot, but his reaction is making me feel like I might be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He resumes where he left off, kissing my chest, and I have to wonder where he learned how to do this. He is making me feel things I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> I could feel. I glance down at him and he looks very pleased with himself. I run my fingers through his hair and throw my head back, closing my eyes to enjoy the moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He kisses his way down my body and I feel a jolt of anticipation. He takes a detour over to my hip, where he starts sucking a hickey into my skin. I involuntarily buck my hips up at the sensation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I can see him smiling to himself as he kisses over my panties, which I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> are obscenely drenched. By this point, my heaving breathing is peppered with quiet noises that I’m hoping he finds attractive. I would honestly hold them back if I had any self control. (I don’t.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Take them </span>
  <em>
    <span>off,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” I demand in frustration. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ma’am,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he says as he complies, sliding my underwear down off my legs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He comes back up and nudges my thighs apart with his face. I let my legs fall apart and try to ignore my nagging insecurities. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When we first started having sex, Bret went down on me once in a while, but only if I specifically asked and for maybe thirty seconds at a time. I once told him that it made me feel insecure to have myself on display in front of him. I was wanting him to tell me there was nothing to worry about, but instead he used it as an excuse to never do it again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fuck him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jughead kisses up my thighs, coming so close to where I want him before retreating again. I give a frustrated groan and I can feel him smile against my skin. That little shit. I</span>
  <em>
    <span> so</span>
  </em>
  <span> do not have the patience for this right now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I am dangerously close to yelling at him to get on with it when he finally puts his mouth on me and I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>done</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m not even sure what he’s doing with his tongue down there, but it is unreal. Like, what is the point of ever leaving this room and doing anything else with my life? Why does anyone anywhere do anything other than this? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I hope these walls are really thick, because I am making some unholy sounds. He slides in a finger, slowly hitting just the right spot, and I can’t help but rock my hips against him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My hands fly to his hair and he uses his free hand to pull one of mine away. He entwines our fingers and let’s our joined hands fall to the bed, running his thumb along mine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For some reason, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>what does it for me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes me by surprise, because honestly I would love nothing more than to hold off and make this last all night. But, I have no choice in the matter as my eyes squeeze shut and my muscles go tight and I ride out the wave of pleasure grinding on his face and hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slows down and pulls away as I lay there feeling dead to the world. I have to admit, I definitely see what the hype is about. Everything feels so good and right and, </span>
  <em>
    <span>god,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I am ruined. There is no way Veronica’s vibrator could ever compare. Can I keep him? I really hope I can keep him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I feel him climb over me, pulling my arm away from my face. He kisses me and his mouth is so wet and it tastes like me and it’s pretty hot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” I say in a raspy voice before clearing my throat. “That’s the first time someone else has ever made me….” </span>
  <em>
    <span>come</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I want to say, but for some reason I feel embarrassed. I know it’s ridiculous, considering where his face just was, but here we are.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulls back a bit, looking surprised. “Really?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, embarrassing I know,” I say. I have no idea what his sexual history is like, but it is surely more exciting than mine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He actually looks delighted. “No! No, I’m… that’s really cool. I’m glad that I could be of assistance,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Be of assistance?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” I say, making him laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know what I mean. I feel distinctly honored that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>am the one to have gotten you off.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s brushing my hair back with his hand and I feel so nice and safe and loved</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I mean, I doubt he actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>loves</span>
  </em>
  <span> me, but I feel it anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can we have sex, now?” I ask quietly. Is that too forward? I don’t think I’ve ever been so blunt about it before in my life. I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>have sex</span>
  </em>
  <span> with someone so badly before in my life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks mildly surprised. “Really? I mean, yeah, definitely,” he says, quickly stripping off his boxers and looking very ready to go. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He leans over to open the end table drawer and pulls out a condom. I look at him questioningly and he says, “Yeah, these rooms come prepared.” I start to wonder what else these rooms are used for and quickly push the thought out of my mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> something to ponder another time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rolls the condom on and crawls back over me. “I… I don’t really know what I’m doing,” I say quickly. “I’ve only ever done this with Bret and it wasn’t even that many times and it was never anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so I just want you to have reasonable expectations in terms of-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Betty,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he cuts me off, leaning down to give me a kiss. “I don’t have any </span>
  <em>
    <span>expectations.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I just really, really want you. Okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” I say, nodding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I let out a breath and try to relax as he enters me. It’s been so long and the stretch feels so good, we both moan at the sensation. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>God,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you feel amazing,” he groans. I bite back a smile, feeling smug. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He thinks I feel amazing.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slowly starts getting into a rhythm. I try to roll my hips in tandem to meet his, not wanting to just lay here and do nothing. He’s kissing my neck and my ear and my shoulder as I cling to him and whisper in his ear how good it feels. It really does. The sex, </span>
  <em>
    <span>obviously,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but also just the intimacy of his body pressed close to mine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulls back to lean on his elbows and rests his forehead on mine as he snaps his hips harder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shoot,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>I whine, which elicits a breathy chuckle from Jughead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re allowed to say ‘shit’, Betts,” he tells me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> you,” I say, bucking my hips up to meet his. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’re doing a very good job of </span>
  <em>
    <span>that,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he responds. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay, you can come,” I tell him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm, say that again,” he commands with a teasing lilt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can come, Jughead,” I repeat in what I hope is a sexy voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jughead. Please come in me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please, please, please, </span>
  </em>
  <span>come.” I whine in his ear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ma’am,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he says before finishing with a low groan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He collapses on top of me and I rub my hand up and down his back. “Thank you,” he mumbles and kisses my cheek. He manages to collect himself enough to roll off of me and dispose of his condom. I know that I should get up to pee, but I don’t really feel like it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He climbs back in bed and curls up next to me, pulling me tightly against his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay, this afterglow is great and all, but what are we doing? Was this a one time thing? Are we going to hook up now? Is it just sex? Is it more? I have a zillion questions floating around my head that are making it hard for me to enjoy the moment. I can feel my heartbeat pick up, but Jughead doesn’t seem to notice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This means a lot to me, Betty,” he whispers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Me too,” I respond.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t say anything more. Great. That answers exactly zero of my questions. I suppose if it “means a lot to him” that it’s more than </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>physical? Is that what he’s trying to say?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This means a lot to me, Betty. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It almost sounds like something you’d say to someone after you’ve given them a gift or done a favor for them. Is that kind of an odd sentiment for this situation? Does it make it seem kind of… final? Like, this </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing that has happened and is now complete </span>
  </em>
  <span>means a lot to me?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I want to clarify, but I also definitely don’t want to clarify. What if I don’t get the answer that I want? And, this becomes the world’s most awkward situation? No, I can play it cool. I can be casual. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Definitely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Totally.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My breathing’s gotten shallow as I feel panic start to come in waves. I close my eyes and try to calm down and empty my thoughts. It’s going to be okay. He’s not going anywhere. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m overreacting. It’s going to be okay.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe I should just talk to him about it. He’s always been so sweet and understanding. He’s very good at talking me down when I’m getting worked up about something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I look up at him and he’s already dead asleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s fine. I didn’t need to sleep anyway.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Betty. Betty, get dressed,” he says, peeling himself away from me and hopping out of bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I sit up and pull the sheet up over myself, realizing that I’m quite naked. There’s banging on the door, which must be what got Jughead moving. There are no windows in here, for the sake of security I suppose, so I have literally no concept of what time it is. I’m guessing early, because I feel like I’ve hardly slept at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulls on his shirt and pants before rushing out of the room. A moment later, his head pops back in the doorway. “Put clothes on!” he tells me again as he throws my dress at me before shutting the french doors behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My brain finally starts functioning and I pop up, searching frantically for my bra and underwear before throwing my dress back on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When I enter the living room, there are a bunch of Secret Service agents. One is looking heated as he talks to Jughead before leading him out of the room. He shoots me an apologetic look before the door shuts behind him. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was bugged, it turns out. Jughead had texted his supervisor to let him know that he was bringing me there for the night before we left the White House. My mother wanted to know where I was when she realized that I’d left the party. His supervisor checked in on us and at just the wrong time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t tell my mother, thank God. He only told her that I was in for the night, which was true. He came in the morning to let Jughead know that he would no longer be employed with the Secret Service.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, now I’m here. Back at my apartment. Laying in bed. A different agent standing somewhere outside my door. He’s old. He’s very much not Jughead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If I didn’t have this hickey on my hip, I might think it had all been a dream.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’m supposed to be taking the LSATs at this very moment. I’m not. I don’t even care anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I feel gutted. It’s so dramatic and I know it but I don’t care. I feel like Bella in the second Twilight book when Edward is gone and she mopes around for a hundred pages. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luckily, Veronica is being my Jacob. Minus the sexual tension. I spilled my guts and told her everything the day I got back. She held me as I cried. She’s been doting on me ever since. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s not allowed to contact me. I don’t have an address for him. I don’t have a phone number. I’ve asked, but no one will give it to me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We’re going to the concert tonight. The one that Jughead got us tickets for. I’m sure the juxtaposition between the excitement of the crowd and my inner devastation will be quite poetic. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>My phone screen lights up. It’s my mother.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Elizabeth?! Why aren’t you in your test?” she asks frantically. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you calling me if I’m supposed to be in a test?” I ask.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to make sure you were there! What is going on? Was it postponed?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nope. I’m not taking it,” I tell her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean you’re not taking it? How are you going to get into law school without an LSAT score? What has gotten into you?” She’s in a rage and it’s actually pretty satisfying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not taking it, because I’m not going to law school,” I tell her matter-of-factly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Elizabeth, I expect to see you in my office this afternoon. I don’t know what has gotten into you, but I am getting it out of you,” she says with authority. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, mom.” I’m not sorry. “I’m not coming.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I hang up. She calls me back a bunch of times. I don’t answer.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elizabeth Cooper? Alice’s daughter?” she asks, looking up from my resume. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, ma’am,” I say with a smile, as if my relationship with my mother is something to smile about. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, isn’t that something. What can we do for you here at The Register, Miss Cooper?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know it’s a little late to be asking, but do you have any spring internships available? I’m graduating in May and I’ve had a last minute change of plans in terms of my career. If you have anything, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>available… I’ll get coffee, or make copies, or do whatever you need. I’m just trying to get my foot in the door so I can have some experience under my belt before I graduate.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’ve given this spiel at four different newspaper headquarters within an hour of my school. Finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally, </span>
  </em>
  <span>this one says-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’d love to have you, Miss Cooper. I’m sure we can find something for you to do here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I smile, but this time I mean it.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>I change my classes to take a few more journalism courses, since I’ve already completed the required coursework for my English degree. I meet with one of the journalism advisors to help me navigate how to get into the field and apply for jobs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With my GPA, plus my experience running the Blue and Gold, plus this internship, she doesn’t think I’ll have a problem landing a decent job. Given my name recognition, she believes I may even get a great job. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It feels like a weight is lifted from my shoulders. Once I completely stopped giving a fuck and just went after what I wanted, I realized that Jughead was right. This is so freeing. I thought my mother’s raging and temper tantrums would be torturous. In fact, they're actually really, really satisfying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I wish he was here. I wish I could tell him that he was right. I wish he could see me living my best life and blowing off my mother. He’d be proud, I think.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I tried to find him on social media, but he’s apparently nonexistent. Veronica also couldn’t find him, so I’m sure that avenue is definitely a dead end. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I know he’s from a town called Riverdale and his last name is Jones. Veronica wants to hunt down his dad, but it seems like a bit much to me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows where to find me. I’m not sure what to make of the fact that he hasn’t tried. I mean, couldn’t he have written a letter, or something? Used a different return address if the Secret Service didn’t want him contacting me?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I take it as rejection and try to move on.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>February</span>
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...So, it’s nice because I’m obviously going to take over my dad’s business when he retires. I keep telling him that it’s pointless for me to get a degree, but he’s being a real dick about it. What I really want to do is be a voice actor. And it’s like, why can’t I just do that until he retires?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He says this as if running a company requires no training or experience. Given the type of person he seems to be, I figure it’s futile to bring this to his attention. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a classic Veronica Lodge arranged blind date. I know she’s just trying to help, but this is terribly depressing. I wish that Jughead was here instead of Agent Andrews, so that I could catch his eye and convey my exasperation to him. This red headed himbo just isn’t the same.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Voice acting sounds cool. How do you even get into something like that?” I ask.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I have a YouTube channel with some examples of my work. Do you know Family Guy?” he asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course. I mean, I’ve never watched it, but I’m familiar with the show,” I tell him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, okay. Listen to this: </span>
  <em>
    <span>By all means, turn me into a child star. Perhaps I can move to Californ-i-ay and wrangle me a three-way with the Olsen twins.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He says it in that voice of the creepy baby from the show. It really does sound like him, I’ll give him that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow, that’s pretty good!” I tell him. “Do you have, like, any original characters?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, I can do all the voices from Family Guy and American Dad. Pretty much all Seth MacFarlane characters,” he says as he bites into a breadstick. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you do anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>than Seth MacFarlane characters?” I ask.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, not really,” he says unconcerned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But, like, doesn’t Seth MacFarlane already exist? Why would he need someone else who can just do impressions of his characters?” I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be sassy, but come on. He sounds like a thirteen-year-old.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They always need more people who can do his voices!” he exclaims.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do they? Have you… looked into that?” I ask, trying to sound innocent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t, but obviously the guy needs a break some time!” he tells me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re so right,” I say nodding. “You should go for it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Who am I to crush his dreams? Maybe Seth MacFarlane does need a break.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Valentine’s Day. My first time being single on Valentine's Day since high school. Not that my relationship with Bret was ever particularly exciting or romantic, but at least I wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I tried using the vibrator that Veronica gave me last night, but I’m too sad to even masturbate. That’s truly how bad things are. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I only knew him for a few months. Why is this affecting me so deeply? As much as I try to forget him, I feel his absence all the time. He’d woven himself so seamlessly into my daily life. And now he’s just… gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Veronica, in typical Veronica fashion, has planned a big Galentine’s Day outing for us and cleared it with Agent Andrews. She’s woken me up at the crack of dawn to schlep me all the way up to Manhattan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We start the morning at her favorite salon, getting pampered and having our hair and makeup done. It’s more her thing than my thing, but I don’t mind indulging her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We grab brunch at some fancy, overpriced bistro, then head over to Central Park. I suggest heading into the Met since it’s pretty cold, but Veronica is really adamant that she wants to walk through the park.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Agent Mason drops us off where Veronica directs him and we make our way through the park with Agent Andrews trailing behind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’m arm in arm with Veronica and the sun is coming out and maybe things aren’t so bad. I’m only twenty one. I have my whole life ahead of me. I can get a job and move anywhere I want after I graduate. I could get a job working internationally and travel the world. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe I’ll see him again one day. Maybe once I’ve graduated and my wounds aren’t quite so raw, I’ll really put some effort into tracking him down. At least to thank him for giving me the push I needed to be my own person. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or… maybe I’ll tell him right now. As we walk along the lake, I see him standing on a bridge, looking down into the water. At least, I think that’s him? Or, maybe it’s some subconscious wishful thinking? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that…?” I start, turning to Veronica, only to find a smug look on her face. I look back at Jughead, who hasn’t seemed to notice us, and then back at her. “How did you find him?” I ask. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Archie was rather… </span>
  <em>
    <span>easily persuaded,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she tells me with a glance back at Agent Andrews. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait…,” I say, piecing things together. “That’s Archie, like his friend Archie?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The very one,” she says with a smirk. “Apparently, Jughead’s been about as unbearable as you have. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No offense</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she adds quickly. “Technically, Archie’s breaking a few rules by arranging this. So, I’ll have to thank him very generously later.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I look back over at Jughead as we reach the bridge and he finally notices me. He’s wearing a plaid jacket with skinny jeans and a beanie. It’s really different from the suited agent look I’m used to, but it feels right. It’s like I’m seeing the real version of him for the first time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go get your man,” Veronica says in my ear before patting my butt and walking away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I slowly walk up to him and he looks scared out of his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He starts rambling as soon as I’m in earshot. “Hey. I know this is probably too late and I’m sorry I didn’t get in touch earlier, I just had a lot of shit I needed to work out. I don’t know… God, I hope I’m not making an ass of myself right now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rubs the back of his neck and looks away for a moment. “I don’t know what I even </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>to you, if we have anything outside of what happened between us. But, if there’s even a </span>
  <em>
    <span>chance </span>
  </em>
  <span>that you’d be interested in me, I am so interested in you. Maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>than just interested. But, I totally get it if you don’t feel that way. I have a job!” he says, as if he’s just remembered. “I’ve already got a job working for an online magazine and technically I can live anywhere, since I work from home, and I was thinking I could get an apartment near yours. But, obviously that’s contingent on you actually wanting to date me. I’m not going to follow you around if you don’t want me. I mean, I literally can’t because of the whole Secret Service thing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath and my eyes are wide as he continues. “So, yeah, you’d have to talk to the supervisor if you wanted to start seeing me and he’s probably going to give you a hard time, but at the end of the day he can’t really do anything to stop you. I mean, this is all if you actually do want to date me, which I’d love to hear your thoughts on that once I can get myself to shut the fuck up. Oh! And here-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small jewelry box, causing my eyebrows to shoot up. “It’s not an engagement ring,” he quickly clarifies. “I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>insane.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I laugh nervously and take the box from him. I open it up to find a gorgeous antique looking silver ring with a pale blue stone. “Okay, so it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>a ring,” he concedes. “The jeweler said that the stone is aquamarine, which is supposed to give you courage and release your anxiety and that just sounded perfect for you. I know. It’s so fucking cheesy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I can’t help but laugh as he keeps talking. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing. I thought it was pretty and I think you’re pretty and I know rings </span>
  <em>
    <span>insinuate </span>
  </em>
  <span>something and this doesn’t have to mean anything. Unless, you want it to mean something! It can mean anything you want it to mean.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pauses for a moment and looks at me. “Please put me out of my misery and say something,” he says with a nervous smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I hand the box back to him and hold out my right hand. He looks at me, unsure, and I nod and wiggle my ring finger. He slides it on and I love it and I love him, and so I tell him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Jughead.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, I fucking love you,” he says, pulling me in for a kiss. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tumble with me @bugheadsextape</p></blockquote></div></div>
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